


Call It Fall

by Lamachine



Series: Quantum Mechanics [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Threesome - F/F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2491304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamachine/pseuds/Lamachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Fred’s lips tasted like apple cider and Sam wondered, not for the first time, why she hadn’t put an end to this, yet. Cold fingers sneaked under her shirt and she forgot her doubts for a moment, the familiar voice purring in her ear, “stay with me.” Many others had asked that of Sam before, but at two a.m., safe from the rain in Fred’s bedroom, she was strangely tempted to comply.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. scar tissue that i wish you saw

“This one doesn’t scan,” the librarian – Fred, her name tag said – apologised as she looked from the computer screen to the books and then to Sam, who simply shrugged. “Pre-med, uh?” she questioned nervously, manually typing in the serial number glued at the back.

 

Sam nodded before realising _Fred_ couldn’t see. “Yeah,” she replied with a raspy voice, annoyed more than anything.

 

“Oh, do you have a cold?” Fred lifted her eyes from the screen for a second, and she blushed before she returned her fingers to the keyboard, typing as she chatted nervously. “There’s a virus going around the campus these days, it seems everybody is getting sick... S-so you should really try to be careful with that because it could settle in your lungs and – and turn into something way worse which,” she stopped, finally taking in a breath, “as a pre-med student you probably already know.”

 

A strange heat spread in Sam’s chest when her eyes crossed Fred’s, and she seemed to notice just now Fred’s willowy figure, her shy and awkward smile, and the bright look peaking at Sam behind thick glasses. Time seemingly slowed for a moment as Sam grabbed the pile of books from Fred’s shaking hands – from the weight or the nervousness Sam couldn’t really tell. She thought of adding something, anything, to get them steady again, but the words wouldn’t come.

 

Instead, she twisted her lips into a fake smile and left, feeling curious eyes boring into her as she hurriedly walked away, eager to put some distant between her and that uncomfortable warmth inside.

 

 

[…]

 

 

Sam had always preferred working in libraries rather than at home – she didn’t know if it was the endless rows of books, the large tables or the quietness, but she had always been fond of those large, imposing buildings. She enjoyed her time studying there even more now that her apartment building was noisy at every hour, and cold all through winter.

 

She had been reading up on biochemistry for most of the evening when she found a reference she hadn’t consulted yet. Annoyed at the added workload she sighed before she stretched her arms and cracked her neck, looking around to find most of the tables around her empty. It was, after all, eleven pm on a Friday, and so she decided to leave her pile of books and her backpack behind, venturing into the rows of books with a tiny piece of paper listing her volume’s reference number.

 

When she finally got to the right bookcase, she noticed the hardback had been stacked on the highest shelf. Even when standing on the tip of her toes she couldn’t reach it, and she looked around for a step to help her up, but couldn’t find any. She glared at the book, utterly frustrated by the whole situation, and to the exterior eye Sam probably looked like she was about ready to climb the bookcase to retrieve it, which might be why a soft voice offered her; “can I help you with that?”

 

She turned towards the voice, recognizing the girl as Fred, the librarian from a few days before. Somehow her annoyance vanished, leaving Sam tired and uncomfortable.

 

“You seem to be searching for something,” Fred continued, walking up to Sam with a shy smile. This time, she didn’t have her name tag on, and Sam suspected it meant she wasn’t working at the moment.

 

Nonetheless, Sam offered her the piece of paper on which she had scribbled the reference number, awkward and quiet as she wondered why Fred looked so beautiful under the harsh glow of the library’s neon lights.

 

“Another failing of the Dewey classification system,” Fred joked timidly, standing on the tip of her toes as she reached for the book. “You know, under the BISAC system, y-your book would actually be in that section right there,” she turned around with the volume in hand, pointing at a darker section, a few rows ahead, “but then again I-I couldn’t be sure that it wouldn’t end up on the highest shelf again,” she grinned, cheeks flushed.

 

Sam awkwardly took the volume from Fred’s hand. “Thanks,” Sam hesitated before she smiled back, somehow dumbfounded at how fast her heart seemed to be beating at the moment.

 

Fred almost gleamed. “No problem,” she whispered before she walked away, only to stop and turn around after a few steps. When she did, Sam’s cheeks reddened at the thought that she hadn’t moved yet, and had been staring at Fred instead.

 

“Oh, uh, this is yours,” Fred offered Sam the piece of paper with the book’s reference number, but when Fred’s fingers brushed Sam’s inner palm, she received an electrostatic shock. Fred pulled apart instinctively, winced slightly as she brought the finger to her lip.

 

“Sorry about that,” Sam immediately apologised, even though she knew it had nothing to do with her.

 

Fred fumbled, the piece of paper still in hand; “oh, no, it’s the air it’s so dry in this section.” She shrugged and smiled again, a strange light at the back of her eyes, “I keep saying we should hide dryer sheets in our pockets; it happens all the time here.”

 

Sam smirked, “or work with antistatic straps,” she suggested, but Fred only looked confused at her joke. “It’s a wrist strap, linked to a ground... It’s for people who work with sensitive electronic equipment.”

 

“How would you even know that?” Fred looked amused, and slightly more relaxed.

 

Becoming grumpy again at the thought of being laughed at for her unusual hobbies, Sam frowned. “I just read about a lot of random stuff.”

 

Silence slipped between the two of them as Sam tried her best not to look at Fred, uncomfortable under Fred’s warm gaze. Fred’s cheeks reddened before she cleared her throat. “Alright, well, I’ll see you around,” Fred tried, but when Sam didn’t add anything else she finally left.

 

An hour later, head buried into the book, Sam was startled by Fred’s sudden appearance by her side. “Sorry, I forgot to give it back,” she whispered, dropping the piece of paper on Sam’s bag with a nervous smile. “O-okay, I’ll let you study now. Bye.”

 

Fred almost ran out of the library then, and as Sam gazed at her she felt that same warmth, enticing and relentless, and settled on ignoring it for as long as she could.

 

 

[...]

 

 

Every time someone dared to sit at Sam’s table while she studied, she always glared at them angrily until they finally moved to another seat. It wasn’t that she was against sharing the space per say, but half the time the other person wasn’t there to study as much as to strike up conversation, and if Sam had one other student telling her they didn’t mind ‘playing doctor’ with her, she was going to murder someone.

 

This time, though, the person who boldly occupied the seat was Fred, and somehow Sam immediately allowed the intrusion, pulling her bag and her books closer so that Fred could have more space on her end of the table. It was odd, she thought, how she didn’t mind Fred’s presence as she studied; how she welcomed it, even.

 

They shared only one look before Fred opened one of her books, a bunch of pencils and markers beside her with multiple notebooks. Sam ignored her desire to gaze at Fred a bit more, as if that would give her some key as to why she felt herself pulled towards her, and instead dug into a large volume on organic chemistry.

 

A few minutes went by before Sam noticed some strange buzzing in her ear, like a whisper that she couldn’t hear properly, and she tried to forget about it as she drank another sip of her cold coffee. She sighed as she returned her eyes on the page, rereading the same sentence five times before she gave up, turning her attention to her surroundings to find the source of her distraction.

 

It was then that she noticed the faint movement of Fred’s lips. “Yes of course, no particle is really immobile, both in matter and radiation,” she wrote down a few words Sam suspected wouldn’t be readable later.

 

She became silent again and so Sam returned to her book until the murmur returned.

 

“But if every particle has an antiparticle do the same laws apply to their dynamic as well? Or is that like having a shadow,” she frowned and that brought a smile to Sam’s lips.

 

Fred seemed to notice Sam’s eyes on her then, and her cheeks flushed wildly.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

 

Sam only groaned and shrugged, returning her focus to her book and ignoring the desire to look up once again. A few minutes later, she heard Fred’s quiet mumbling again, but this time Sam didn’t lift her eyes; she just listened as Fred went on about quarks and leptons, not understanding half of the things that came out of Fred’s lips. Somehow that made Sam’s heart beat even faster as she pictured taking the book out of Fred’s hands and shutting her up some other way.

 

Sam found a smile twisting her lips as she listened to the rant, not really concentrating on organic chemistry anymore. The page blurred before her as she stared, her breathing slowing down like she didn’t want to disturb Fred – which was ridiculous, she chastised herself, because Fred was the one distracting her to begin with.

 

Someone from another table shushed Fred and Sam glared at them angrily, only diverting her eyes when she became conscious of Fred’s gaze on her, curious and amused.

 

Yet the both of them didn’t say anything, turning their attention back to their respective studies, and Sam only felt at ease once the murmur returned to her ears minutes later. It became something like white noise and she found herself strangely relaxed as she read, almost disappointed when it stopped, hours later.

 

“See you tomorrow?” Fred asked as she picked up her books, and it seemed to remind Sam that they had been crossing paths for many nights in a row, whether Fred worked or not. She frowned, knowing it wasn’t in her habits to willingly see one person over and over again.

 

“Yeah, probably,” her raspy voice came out a bit too loud and someone shushed her, and this time she only sent them a short, grumpy glance. She heard Fred chuckling, a crystalline little laughter that made her heart skip a beat.

 

She barely heard Fred’s whispered _good night_ when she left, troubled by this strange sensation inside. It wasn’t very different from when she had been attracted to people before – Sam did have some experience with sex and relationships after all, even though it had always ended badly. Still there was something odd inside her when Fred was around, and she wondered for a second if that was what others were referring to, when they told her they cared, that they liked her, that they wanted to be with her more.

 

But Sam really didn’t feel that needy, and if she couldn’t wait for the next day, it was only because she was getting a lot of work done when Fred was there, and it had nothing to do with the way the shy brunette made her heart beat faster.

 

 

[...]

 

 

The next day Fred brought two large coffees, and the one after that, Sam offered her some of the snacks she had sneaked in. Without really planning it, it became a regular moment they shared together, and every night they would study for a few hours, quiet but for Fred’s constant whispered chatter. Sometimes Sam came early and watched as Fred placed books back on the shelves, focused and dutiful, so much that she barely even noticed Sam’s eyes on her.

 

Sam couldn’t tell when it started exactly, this pulling inside that made her want to take care of Fred, to make her feel safe and warm. When she started feeling comfortable taking Fred’s glasses off her face when she fell asleep, or when Fred started helping her study before her exams. She let it happen, simply, and the odd burning inside only grew.

 

“Here,” Fred pulled a chair beside Sam’s one night, joyful and at ease; “use mine.”

 

She offered her hand with the gentlest smile and Sam bit her inner lip, sensing her heart beating a bit faster than usual. She took the hand nonetheless, cold in her warm touch and she felt like pulling Fred closer to warm her up, but focused on the task instead.

 

She cleared her throat. “Okay so, bones of the hand,” she shrugged, trying to relieve herself of that tension she felt building up inside. Her thumb grazed Fred’s wrist, drawing soothing round circles there as she started, “Carpal bones, proximal row,” she focused on the words, the stability of knowledge, instead of Fred’s scarce breathing, “scaphoid, lunate, triquetral, pisiform.”

 

Sam shifted her hold a bit higher, thumb exploring the beginning of Fred’s palm. “Distal row,” she swallowed hard, Fred’s perfume suddenly invading her. “Trapezium, trapezoid,” she pushed a bit more against the skin, feeling Fred gasp quietly. “Capitate, hamate.”

 

Sam blinked a few times, forgetting what was coming next as she struggled with her desire, feeling Fred shifting closer and picturing how it would feel like to lift her head and cup Fred’s cheek, to pull her into a kiss and maybe bite on that lip. She cleared her throat again. “Then the metacarpal bones extend in three distinct phalanges,” she stated more to calm herself down than to really study. She placed a finger and a thumb on both sides of Fred’s index, slowly tracing her way up as she continued, “proximal, middle, and distal.”

 

If Fred’s hand remained into hers for a bit too long, both of them ignored it, their cheeks reddened as they slowed down the beatings of their hearts.

 

 

[...]

 

 

One night where Fred had once again checked out too many books, Sam suggested walking her home to share the weight. The offer surprised them both, and Sam stayed even more quiet than usual as they walked, pondering on the reasons why she seemed to gravitate around Fred more than anything, lately. Beside her, Fred chatted away on some physics theory she was working on for an assignment, unaware that Sam wasn’t really listening.

 

“Well spontaneous symmetry breaking happens because of a random element outside of the actual system being studied – an element that comes and changes the balance of the system making it forever asymmetrical,” Fred continued her enthusiastic explanation. “But wouldn’t that just be failing to account for a bigger system that includes this one? Because I think randomness in nature is an intriguing concept but hard to theorise on, scientifically I mean. I mean every symmetry is part of a larger system that may influence it at some point, so is it really spontaneity or just that we hadn’t thought of that particular detail because we focused on the symmetry at hand and not its place in the larger system.” She hadn’t even noticed they had reached her dorm for quite some time already. “I really don’t know if I should mention it in my paper because –”

 

Despite the darkness of the night, Sam’s lips easily found Fred’s, efficiently shutting her up as Fred instinctively moved closer. Sam’s hands came to rest at her waist as she snaked her arms around her neck, smiling into the soft kiss.

 

“That,” Fred started when Sam pulled apart, “that was a very good example of spontaneity breaking symmetry.”

 

“Yes, it was,” Sam winked smugly, almost inebriated by Fred’s warmth against her.

 

“What did I forget to take into account?” Fred smiled, eyes still on Sam’s lips, hoping she would kiss her again.

 

Sam mocked; “that it’s cold and I’m tired,” but Fred smirked, detecting the lie. Sam moved to kiss her again then, slower this time, Fred’s mouth almost burning hot and enticing. She stopped herself before she became insistent, not wanting to push Fred into anything. “Good night,” Sam whispered before she left.

 

As the excitation from the kiss slowly drained out of her, Sam remembered Fred’s words, about spontaneous breaking making a system _forever asymmetrical_ , and suddenly the night seemed colder and harsher. Sam walked faster, putting distance between her and the glooming thought that she would end up breaking Fred’s heart, and that there was nothing she could do to stop that from happening.

 

 

[...]

 

 

Fred’s lips tasted like apple cider and Sam wondered, not for the first time, why she hadn’t put an end to this, yet. Cold fingers sneaked under her shirt and she forgot her doubts for a moment, the familiar voice purring in her ear, “stay with me.” Many others had asked that of Sam before, but at two a.m., safe from the rain in Fred’s bedroom, she was strangely tempted to comply.

 

Opening her eyes, Sam remembered she could barely see through the darkness here; the lamppost diffused its eerie orange light over Fred’s pale skin, caressing the leather editions on the bookshelf beside the bed, but didn’t reach far into the room. It seemed to Sam like all that was left in the world were those books and Fred, her brunette curls a mess and her glasses askew on her nose as she pressed herself against Sam.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Fred questioned, head tilting to the side, eyes still glinting.

 

Sam shrugged, “nothing,” and pushed her down on the bed.

 

With others she would be rough, and careless, but with Fred she found she wanted to take her time, to be gentle, to explore every inch of her. An exception to her general rule, Sam rationalised, and yet it disturbed her more than she could explain. It wasn’t something she could say out loud, but something she preferred to ignore and even forget. Still, the thought returned to Sam’s mind relentlessly, crashing into her like waves, drowning her.

 

“Stay with me,” Fred repeated even when Sam’s fingers curled inside her, begging and sad, making Sam’s heart beat wild, her eyes glancing towards the window. Sam’s instincts screamed for her to leave but Fred’s hand insisted, her hair spread over the pillow like roots.

 

While anger slipped like a snake in her gut, Sam’s erratic breathing exhausted her muscles and excited her nerves, and she leaned down almost painfully. “I’m right here,” the reassuring whisper twisted in her mouth like a lie, but Fred moaned all the same.

 

One day, Sam would really have to end this. But as Fred grinned, hips bucking against her hand, biting her lower lip in anticipation, Sam thought it didn’t have to be today.

 

 

[...]

 

 

“My parents are coming into town next month,” Fred started, eyes still locked on her book like she was gathering courage. “I’d like it if they’d... if you’d meet them.”

 

Sam felt her heart turning cold, and a weight like lead in her stomach.

 

“I don’t see why,” she stated, reeling in her frustration. It wasn’t something she did – it wasn’t something she would ever do again. She wasn’t made for this relationship stuff, wasn’t made to care. She knew Fred’s parents would see it – they would see her for who she was. Someone who would never be able to care for Fred the way Fred cared for her.

 

“Well they’d like to meet my girlfriend,” she continued, hesitation and worry in her voice. Sam knew this part well; in front of her Fred was raw like an open wound and Sam didn’t know better than to poke at it.

 

“I’m not your girlfriend,” she replied, and although it wasn’t the first time she said those words, she didn’t expect the nausea that came inside her then. The air in Fred’s bedroom shifted, charging with electricity as Fred’s cheeks reddened with something other than embarrassment. Sam somehow found it just as endearing, but she thought it probably wasn’t a normal reaction either.

 

“You pick me up after work and walk me home, spend almost all your evenings here like we’re practically living together but I’m, what?” Sam wished she wouldn’t say it. She wished Fred would stop there. “Just a girl you fuck when you’re bored?”

 

Sam couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t say anything under Fred’s cold stare and with tears running down her cheeks, tears Sam had caused, tears Sam had always knew she would cause and she found herself speechless.

 

“I can’t believe you,” Fred let out, angry and suddenly so tired. “You’re really something, you know that Sam?”

 

And again Sam wished she wouldn’t say what she knew damn well Fred would say, but she couldn’t stop her, and she couldn’t argue either. Fred was right.

 

“Do you even care?” Fred pushed as predicted. “Have you ever cared?”

 

Sam bit her inner lip. It was coming like a tidal wave and she knew exactly what followed; it was always the same, and it was why Sam didn’t do relationship. This time, though, it seemed worse. It cut the air from her lungs and made the nausea even stronger as Fred brushed away her tears angrily.

 

“Do you even have a heart, Sam?” it was angry and desperate and it sliced like a knife.

 

Fred left then, and the sound of the door closing stopped Sam’s heart, but not in the wonderful way Fred used to make her skip a beat. Sam remained alone in her room, wondering if she should have lied, or at least pretended better, and how she always ended up like this, destroying the people she liked because she simply couldn’t return their feelings.

 

Maybe Fred was right, and Sam didn’t have a heart, after all.

 

 

[...]

 

 

Sam waited two days before she showed up at the library again, and the guy at the counter had an awkward face when he answered her question. “She’s placing books back on the shelves, in the section right there, at the back.”

 

She ignored his curious eyes and went through the row of books, heart pounding. She hadn’t decided what to say exactly, hadn’t found a way to explain to Fred that Fred wasn’t like the others, that she mattered somehow and that Sam didn’t want to lose her. The words didn’t mean much to her but she knew Fred would listen, she knew Fred would find a way to make it better.

 

She would compare it to some particle physics theory and the world would make sense again, and maybe Sam could try and pretend to be a better person than she was because if she was ever going to fake this relationship again, it would be for no one other than Fred.

 

When she got to the furthest section the air felt even more electric than it usually was, and she saw the cart still full of books, but not Fred. She waited there a while before she explored the other rows, searching for a familiar brunette. After an hour she decided Fred had probably seen her and ran out of the library to avoid talking to her, and Sam tried to ignore the puzzling look the guy at the counter sent her when she left, alone, exhausted, and empty.

 

Three days later Sam blamed herself for not searching for more answers that day, when she filed a missing person’s report, her heart turning cold at the thought that she might never see Fred again.


	2. lick your heart and taste your health

Lorne heard the noise and the voices first, and not for the first time Fred wondered if there was more to his demonic powers than the reading of auras. Without a word they both grabbed some weapons and made their way up the stairs towards the disturbance, secretly hoping it was the exhaustion causing them to act a bit paranoid, and not that there was an actual intruder in the hotel. They had been in worse situations, Fred told herself while she loaded an arrow in her crossbow, fingers shaking slightly.

 

Once they were on the upper floor the noise became louder – a small commotion like someone having an argument –, and Fred’s heart beat wildly in her chest, stomach tightening in a knot. Yet she smiled at Lorne when their eyes met, as if trying to reassure him despite her own panic. Lorne returned the gesture and somehow it helped, even though it was entirely illogical, because they both weren’t fighters and if there was a creature in there – and now it sounded like there were two – they would be no match.

 

Through the door Fred heard muffled talk of roots and numbers and she frowned, the voice suddenly familiar. She angled her head towards the door, listening in, eyes on the cracks in the doorframe as she ignored Lorne’s puzzling look. Her mind pictured the woman the voice seemingly belonged to, a short brunette she hadn’t thought about in a very long time.

 

Truth was, Fred hadn’t remembered Sam when she first came back from Pylea; the memories of her buried deep under years of slavery and torture. Then Fred had met Gunn, and the strange mixture of roughness and gentleness when they made love had brought back the souvenir of Sam, of that girl she had given her heart to before she had fallen into Hell. For months afterwards, every time she would see a short brunette she would think of Sam, picturing her at the corner of every street and wondering what had happened to her. If she thought of Fred sometimes, and imagined her standing on the other side of the street, waiting there like no time had passed.

 

For all those daydreaming moments, it was the first time Fred really remembered Sam’s voice, although this one sounded older, harsher. She blamed the confusion on her exhaustion and settled on it being a trick from her mind, readjusting her grip on her crossbow as she slowly turned the doorknob.

 

“Will you shut up about this for two minutes?” Fred heard as she opened the door, followed by a deafening silence.

 

She was met with her own large surprised eyes staring back at her, and the opened mouth of someone who looked like a perfect copy of Sam. Fred blinked several times, feeling Lorne doing the same beside her until instincts kicked in and she aimed her weapon at Sam, noticing Lorne’s axe rising to threaten her own doppelganger. In front of her Sam appeared surprised, yet her eyes fell on Fred alone and not on the green demon at her side – Fred wondered if that was a good or a bad sign.

 

It took a few seconds of silence before someone dared to speak.

 

“Kind of early for Halloween,” the Fred look-alike stated, and Fred thought that hearing her own voice coming from another body, the tone low and cynical, was so very strange.

 

“And who are you supposed to be?” Lorne asked angrily. Not that he wasn’t used to that reaction from most humans, but he wasn’t entirely convinced that this wasn’t a shifter’s trick, although the pose, the clothes, the expression were all wrong if that creature wanted to pretend being Fred.

 

The Sam look-alike stepped forward, ignoring the crossbow aimed at her heart. “Fred?” Sam winced slightly when she said the name, and Fred’s heartbeats went wild, the muscle almost hurting under the strain and for a moment she wondered if she was going to faint. Despite her better judgment she let the crossbow fall between them, loosely hanging from her arm, all but forgotten.

 

“S-Sam?” the name was almost painful to say, and Fred flinched. “Is it really you?”

 

Fred didn’t wait for an answer; she came to crash into Sam, holding onto her like she had feared she was dead, and felt one of Sam’s warm hands coming to rest at the end of her back. Somehow, after all these years, it seemed like Sam smelled exactly the same, although Fred knew the scent was probably a fabrication of her mind and not an actual fact. Suddenly Sam’s body felt too hot against hers, rigid even, and when Fred pulled apart she noticed Sam sending a glance to the side at the other woman in the room. That look sent an electric bolt to Fred’s stomach and she turned, lifting her crossbow towards her look-alike.

 

“Who is that?” she asked in a low voice, staying close to Sam even though her stare was directed elsewhere. She studied the tall brunette standing there; her pale complexion, her sad eyes; physically it was Fred, but it wasn’t her, and it didn’t look like she was pretending to be Fred either. “That isn’t me, you know?”

 

Sam frowned, but before either of them could say anything the woman spoke. “Oh, so you always had a thing for mental patients, Shaw?”

 

The voice came out smug and rude and yet Fred could see worry – or was it hurt? – behind the words.

 

“Root,” Sam stepped forward, and it seemed like a warning. “Really not the time.”

 

The confusion took over the small comfort Fred had found in Sam’s embrace, and Fred felt panic slipping in once again. “What’s going on?” she asked, worried. Her eyes gazed from Sam to Root, questioning like she had just remembered they were intruders. “What are you doing here?”

 

Fred took two steps back, returning to Lorne’s side as if threatened. She noticed a gun in Sam’s hand and wondered if it had been there since she had opened the door – worried she simply hadn’t noticed it before, like she had forgotten for a second that years had went by, and that Sam wasn’t a pre-med student anymore.

 

“You’re in danger,” Sam told her with a cold, detached voice, and it sounded so different from the grumpy Sam who helped her carry her books and bought her coffee.

 

Quiet so far, Lorne spared Fred a glance. “Friends of yours?”

 

“I don’t know,” she frowned, her heart tightening in her chest every time her eyes met Sam’s. “What do you mean I’m in danger?”

 

“Someone’s planning on killing you, but obviously you are aware of that,” Root replied with a detached voice, eyes on the crossbow. “Or do you always welcome people with medieval weapons?”

 

Fred ignored the banter, used to the weirdness of her life now. “What are you, some kind of shapeshifter?”

 

Root rolled her eyes. “Shaw, your taste in women is really doubtful, you know that?”

 

Sam ignored her; “she just looks like you, Fred.” Her voice was reassuring, yet Fred didn’t know that she could believe her – this older version of Sam that responded to another name.

 

Fred made a choice, then. She aimed her crossbow at Root’s head, clenching her jaw as she gathered the courage to pull the trigger, if need be. “Sing.”

 

Root laughed, not at all intimidated. “Excuse me, what?”

 

“Sing,” Fred repeated louder before she shot Lorne a glance, her voice suddenly lowered and hesitant. “Y-you could read her, right?”

 

Lorne nodded, his hands gripped on the axe Fred knew he didn’t want to use.

 

“Is this a joke?” Root asked, blinking until she turned to Sam. “Shaw, say something.”

 

Sam turned to Root then, barely taking her eyes off Fred. Still, in the short look they shared, they seemed to communicate _something_ , and Fred felt her stomach tightening again at the sight, a slight burning in her throat.

 

“I said you have to sing,” Fred insisted, her voice crackling under the strain of stress and Root took a step back.

 

“Alright, alright,” Root frowned, swallowing hard before she took a deep breath. “Hush little baby don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird,” the voice, shaking and hesitant, so unlike it had been before, made Fred squirm, “and if that mockingbird don’t sing, Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.”

 

Lorne flinched, bringing one hand to his head. Fred kept her crossbow up but placed a comforting hand on Lorne’s shoulder; “are you alright?”

 

“Yes, I was just... not expecting,” he stopped himself, looking up to Root. She stared back at him awkwardly, like she was worried of what he was going to say next. “Not expecting this,” he finished, clearing his throat and sending a little smile towards Fred. “The lady doesn’t like you very much,” he continued, suddenly exhausted, “but she’s got honest intentions.”

 

“Well no one ever said _that_ about me before,” Root smirked, walking up to Fred, her confidence and smugness back. “So maybe you can toss the toys aside,” she mocked, placing a finger on Fred’s arrow and pushing it down. “And take off the make-up,” she judged Lorne up and down before she snaked between the both of them, going further down the corridor and into the hotel, as if she owned the place.

 

Fred spared Sam a glance, but Sam just shook her head.

 

“What’s up with green man here?” Sam asked, pointing at Lorne.

 

“He’s an empath demon,” Fred shrugged before she followed Root.

 

In the empty hotel room, Sam frowned, sharing a look with Lorne.

 

“Oh, I’m not evil, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Lorne smiled gently.

 

“I’m not scared,” Sam smirked, her hang tightening around her gun, and indicating for Lorne to walk in front of her as they followed Root and Fred. “But maybe _you_ should be.”

 

 

[...]

 

 

Fred cleaned out the filter of the coffee machine with Sam’s eyes boring into her, digging holes in her back as she prepared a new carafe. Angel’s office had seemed like a good place to hide for a moment, but she hadn’t counted on Sam following her in, and somehow it felt like it was smaller than it used to be, almost making it impossible to breathe. She tried to focus on the quiet conversation she could hear from the other room, Root and Lorne’s hushed voices providing a soothing background to Sam’s weighted silence.

 

As she pressed the last button to start the machine, Fred desperately ignored the pain in her chest at the thought of turning around and looking at Sam again. For years she had pictured her everywhere, but now that she was there, just a few steps away, it seemed to Fred like her best option was to run away, to disappear. She wished she had never seen her again.

 

It wasn’t like the shock she had felt when she had been reunited with her parents; she knew now that Pylea was real, that all those years of slavery and torture had really happened to her; there was no denying it. No, what bothered her was the scars she had now, some wounds that would never fully heal. She wasn’t the Fred Sam had known then; wasn’t even sure that Sam had ever loved that dear old Winifred.

 

When Fred finally turned around Sam only stood there, still and silent like a soldier, and Fred noticed the difference in her traits – not only older, but more severe, like she had gone to hell and back. It made Fred wonder what had happened in Sam’s life since Fred had disappeared, and if Sam could really see the disparities between who Fred was then, and who she had become.

 

Under Sam’s curious stare Fred raised a hand to her neck unconsciously, mind suddenly filled with thoughts of explosive collars, blood, and pain.

 

“Where did you go?” Sam finally asked, almost in a whisper. Through the hole in the wall of Angel’s office, Fred could see Root talking to Lorne, her lips moving even though her cold eyes stared back at Fred. “You disappeared.”

 

Fred wondered for a moment if Sam meant to ask about her falling into a portal all those years back or if she was asking about Fred’s spacing out just now. Her cheeks reddened as she quietly pondered the stories she had never told, not even to Gunn or Wesley because they wouldn’t understand, they wouldn’t _know_ , and those words she had promised herself she would never speak came back to her now. Memories she had buried deep that threatened to flow out of her, all under Sam’s worried gaze and Fred wondered if Sam could read them on her skin.

 

“Would you believe me if I said I fell through a portal to Hell?” Fred almost laughed it off, comforted by the familiar noise of the coffee machine, behind her. Hiding her hands into her jeans’ pocket she tried to smile. “I know it sounds crazy.”

 

Sam sighed, lifting her eyebrows. “It really does.”

 

There wasn’t anything Fred could add to convince Sam that she wasn’t lying or insane. No matter how much she wanted Sam to look at Lorne and somehow understand everything, things just weren’t that simple.

 

“What are you doing here?” Fred whispered, so very exhausted all of a sudden.

 

“It’s complicated,” Sam answered, averting her eyes for a moment. Fred bit the inside of her cheek nervously.

 

“You say my life’s in danger,” she repeated, voice weak and hesitant. “The life I have Sam... I’m always in danger.”

 

Sam frowned, evidently not pleased with that statement. “Fred, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but this?” she gestured as if to indicate the hotel and Lorne and all the crazy that had entered Fred’s life since she had been sent to Pylea, “this is insane.”

 

It reminded Fred of a time when she had thought of leaving Angel Investigations to return home with her parents, of another time when she had dreamed of going back to the world of physics, only to uncover the truth. With lead in her stomach and the constant burning in her throat, Fred shook her head. This insanity, as Sam called it, it was her life now, and she gladly claimed it hers; besides, Fred wasn’t Sam’s anymore, no matter how much she wanted to be hers again.

 

“It’s my life,” Fred stared at her defiantly, feeling another rush of blood flushing her cheeks. “I know you don’t understand, I know you have questions, but you’re in _my_ home now, in the middle of _my_ life, so don’t think you know better than me, Sam. You don’t.”

 

Her voice had turned cold, and Fred expected Sam to flinch or to be hurt, but instead Sam only smirked, as if she found this new version of Fred interesting, attractive even.

 

“Still got some kick in you, uh?” Sam moved from the wall, winking before she sat on one of the couches. “That’s good.”

 

Fred’s heart melted then, and she wondered if she was ever going to learn.

 

 

[...]

 

 

“So you’re a demon,” Root stated for the third time, eyes unfocused.

 

Lorne tried not to sigh in annoyance, and failed. “Yes.”

 

“And you can read people’s minds when they sing,” she didn’t sound convinced.

 

“Well, not exactly sweetheart; I read auras,” Lorne corrected.

 

Root made a face. “Don’t call me sweetheart,” she glared, then averted her eyes. “So that’s a thing?”

 

“Demons?”

 

“Auras.”

 

Lorne breathed out loudly, impatient and tired. “Yes it’s a thing, dear.”

 

“And don’t call me dear.”

 

 

[...]

 

 

“And you are certain someone is going to try to murder me?” Fred asked again, surprised. She sipped her coffee – too hot – and ignored how close she was to Sam. The proximity unnerved her, but at least when she was sitting on the couch Root couldn’t stare at her, and that offered Fred some comfort.

 

“Either that or you’re planning to kill someone,” Sam replied, her eyes still on her mug, seemingly drowning in the black liquid. “Do you have any enemies?”

 

Sam’s question sounded like it was day-to-day business to her, and maybe it was; Fred still hadn’t understood what Sam was doing here exactly. It bothered her less than the idea that she knew nothing of what had happened to Sam since they had been together, all those years back.

 

Under the insistence of Sam’s gaze, Fred shrugged. “Angel has enemies, not me.”

 

“Who’s Angel?” Sam asked, and the name sounded wrong in her mouth, like it didn’t signify the same thing as when Fred said it, like it didn’t belong there. Fred tried to push it aside; that thought that Sam didn’t belong in her life anymore, that they both had no idea of who they were anymore.

 

“A friend,” Fred replied vaguely.

 

For a second she thought she saw jealousy flash on Sam’s face and it sent another bolt of electricity through her stomach.

 

“Maybe someone is trying to get to them by threatening you,” Sam pondered aloud before she sipped her coffee.

 

“Why does she call you Shaw?” Fred asked all of a sudden, and chuckled at the way Sam almost spurted her coffee. Sam glared at her for laughing, but her eyes were warm and inviting, and Fred bit on her lip, her breath catching in her throat.

 

Sam smiled. “It’s my name,” she offered.

 

“Sam Shaw,” Fred tried, and it rolled strangely on her tongue.

 

“Sameen, actually,” Sam corrected, and Fred swallowed hard, remembering how she had loved that name. But Sam didn’t like being called Sameen then and she had complied, because she knew all too well how she hated being called Winifred. It was something they both agreed on, something on which they had both instantly agreed, and to have it gone was strange and oddly enticing. She noticed Sam’s eyes falling on her lips and she licked them absently.

 

Fred leaned in then, her lips warm against Sam’s, who kissed her back almost gently, her breath running down Fred’s skin. Moving in closer, Fred relaxed only when Sam’s hand came to cup her cheek, a thumb grazing just under her eyes. Her tongue boldly licked Sam’s lower lip before Sam pulled apart.

 

“I’m not good at these things,” she whispered with her hand still holding Fred close, her forehead resting against Fred’s, “but I think I’m not supposed to do this.” Sam sighed, gesturing in the air between the two of them.

 

“Because of her?” Fred questioned, moving away slightly. “You’re with Root?”

 

The thought twisted her stomach, making her feel odd and itchy, like she wasn’t in the right skin; like none of this should be happening.

 

Sam averted her eyes. “Not exactly,” she replied. “It’s complicated.”

 

There was a moment of silence before Fred stated the obvious.

 

“She looks like me,” and Fred cringed at the sound of her voice, so very tired and sad.

 

Sam looked up to her then, studying her traits with a warm curiosity. “Kind of,” she whispered like a confession.

 

Fred’s heart beat wildly in her chest as she stared back, eyes into Sam’s as if trying to detect a lie. She took a few seconds to gather her courage before she questioned; “is that why you like her?”

 

She couldn’t say love; it was too painful to think that Sam, who could not love her, could fall for someone else, someone who looked exactly like her but wasn’t Fred.

 

“No,” Sam cleared her throat, and just like that Fred knew she had no right to ask another question; that Sam was done answering.

 

 

[...]

 

 

“Wolfram and Hart?” Root repeated after Lorne, waving her gun. “And should we be expecting...?”

 

“People like me?” Lorne suggested with a smirk. “For little Winifred? I doubt it, but with them you never know.”

 

Root sighed. “We should leave now,” she stood up, convinced. “This place isn’t safe, too many angles to cover.”

 

Lorne laughed. “You’re kind of restless now that you can’t keep eyes on your girl, huh?”

 

“Fred’s not her style,” Root took out her handgun’s clip, checked to ensure it was full and cocked it back into place for the fourth time.

 

“She was,” Lorne took a serious voice. “And look at you sugar; I think it’s obvious she still is.”

 

Root put her gun behind her back, jamming it between her shirt and her belt. “Don’t call me sugar.”

 

 

[...]

 

 

“Shaw?” Root’s voice didn’t waver, but still Fred could hear the worry in her tone. She flinched when she noticed Sam’s gun back in her hand, a cold expression on her face.

 

“Stay here,” she ordered, and Fred recognised that hard look; it wasn’t unlike the serious glare the boys sent her when trouble was around, and as it did with Angel, Gunn and Wesley, it annoyed her more than anything else.

 

She moved closer to the door, listening in. “She says there’s a van parked right outside,” Fred watched as Root pointed towards the front door. Root seemed to be listening to something as her eyes unfocused, and then she turned to Sam. “They’re six.”

 

Sam frowned. “My rifle’s upstairs.”

 

Root pulled out her gun shrugging. “I’ll run interference.”

 

From where Fred was, she couldn’t see Sam’s expression very well, but she seemed worried. Then again, Fred’s palms were sweaty and she was starting to feel her heart beating wild again, for less enticing reasons. She spared a look to Lorne, coming to hide in the office with her, and then noticed Sam at the foot of the stairs.

 

“You keep an eye on those two?” she asked, and Fred wondered what they all had, always thinking she was in need of protection when she obviously could hold her own. She grabbed the crossbow she had left on Angel’s bureau as she heard Root’s voice.

 

“Sure, I’ll babysit,” she mocked. As soon as Sam disappeared upstairs, Root moved to hide behind the only furniture in the lobby. “Alright kids, things are gonna get interesting.”

 

Root started shooting as soon as the front door opened, and even though Fred flinched every time Root fired she kept her eyes open, constantly moving from Root to her targets. She watched as one fell to the ground, another hiding behind the opened door, moving in when Root stopped to reload. He received a bullet to the side before he could reach the stairs, and Fred looked up to see a head rising above the balustrade.

 

“Would you stop firing like you’ve got endless ammo?” Fred heard Sam complained, and a grin appeared on Root’s face.

 

The four other men sent by Wolfram and Hart entered at the same time in a rush, three of them running up the stairs as one walked a straight line towards Root, shooting relentlessly. Root ducked behind the furniture until he got too close and then stood up rapidly, firing two shots at him. He fell to the ground then and she moved quickly, taking away his gun.

 

Bullets came raining down on her and Root ran to take cover in Angel’s office, not bothering to fire back at them. She nearly crashed into Fred on the way in.

 

“Where’s Sam?” Fred asked immediately, ignoring Root’s annoyance with her. Before Root could answer, the phone on Angel’s desk rang, and Fred instinctively moved to answer it.

 

 “You have to get out of there now,” Angel’s voice came through the line immediately, panicked and rushed, and Fred blinked. “They sent people to kill you.”

 

She spared Lorne a look, still ducked behind Angel’s desk. “I know,” she answered, hearing gunshots in the lobby.

 

“Fred, get out of there now,” the urgency in his voice wasn’t new, but this time Fred felt strangely distant and unresponsive; like she didn’t care much what happened to her. She thought of Sam upstairs just as the firing stopped. She dropped the phone then, barely hearing Angel’s protests as she walked up to Root.

 

“Where’s Shaw?” Root asked, and Fred had the distinct feeling she wasn’t talking to her. Root ran a hand through her hair and pulled out a second gun from an ankle holster. “Stay down,” she ordered Fred before she moved towards the door, but Fred pulled on her arm, forcing her to turn around.

 

“If Sam’s hurt I’m going with you,” Fred insisted, glancing at Lorne as he was hanging up the phone. She guessed he had reassured Angel in some way, but at the moment she didn’t care much about that. Her heartbeats somehow slowed almost to a stop as she waited for Root’s answer.

 

Root sighed. “Fine,” she took the crossbow out of Fred’s hand and threw it aside on the couch before offering her a gun. “You know how to use this?”

 

Fred nodded, feeling the heat of Root’s palm lingering on the hard metal of the revolver.

 

“Don’t shoot at me,” Root ordered. “Or at Shaw,” she added before she spared a glance towards Lorne, back to his safety spot behind the desk. “I don’t care whether or not you shoot him.” Lorne made a face and Root smirked, yet somehow Fred felt a bit reassured at the banter, as if it was a promise that everything would be okay in the end.

 

Fred dutifully followed Root into the lobby, the both of them sticking close to the wall as they moved slowly towards the stairs.

 

“She says she doesn’t have eyes on Shaw, but there’s one guy just above us,” Root whispered to Fred, shoving her arm into her ribs when Fred didn’t stop. “Wait.”

 

Root seemed to count up to ten in her head before she pounced forward, getting at the foot of the staircase in three steps and firing two shots rapidly. She then gestured to Fred to follow before climbing up the stairs and Fred obeyed, speechless.

 

As soon as they reached top they found the man Root had shot, whining on the floor, holding onto his leg and trying to stop the bleeding. Root didn’t spare him a look, going straight for Sam’s unconscious body a little further ahead down the corridor. Fred felt nauseous at the sight and ran behind Root, kneeling beside Sam with a lump in her throat. She gazed from Sam to Root as Root searched for a pulse, only breathing again when Root’s cold expression warmed up slightly.

 

“She says others are coming,” Root breathed out, eyes glancing to the side. She found a second unconscious man beside Sam, but no doubt Sam’s assailant was still on the same story somewhere.

 

“Who’s _she_?” Fred asked, staring as Root returned to her feet. Her worry only increased when Root’s eyes unfocused again.

 

Root turned around quickly and fired two more rounds before she threw her empty gun aside; Fred looked in time to see another stranger falling on the floor, crying out in pain. Root kneeled again, hands kneading Sam’s body until she found a hidden revolver in one pocket. “You stay with her,” Root told Fred in a rush before she ran downstairs. Fred heard a few more gunshots, and when it quieted down she moved towards the balustrade, head rising to look over the parapet.

 

“Root?” she asked, knowing it would betray her position, but unable to stop the worry in her gut. She noticed Lorne gazing up to her from Angel’s office, and shrugging like he didn’t know what was going on. “Root?” she called again, almost frantically.

 

“Would you shut up for a moment?” Root complained then, walking up the stairs like there was nothing to worry about. “I’m trying to listen.”

 

“Listen to what?” Fred asked, but by her side Sam slowly regained consciousness, and that grabbed all her attention.

 

Fred barely noticed that Root had already reached her side, and she was startled when Root whispered fondly, “hey sleepyhead.” With one hand resting on Sam’s leg, she extended an open palm towards Fred. “My gun please?”

 

“You gave her a gun?” Sam groaned, bringing a hand to the back of her head and finding blood where she had been hit.

 

“She insisted,” Root shrugged.

 

Sam rolled her eyes. “What’s the situation?”

 

Root grinned. “Under control.” She raised her gun and aimed it at Fred’s head, firing a round just beside Fred’s ear, effectively shooting down a guy coming down the corridor. Fred felt the heat of the bullet as the explosion hurt her eardrum violently, making her flinch.

 

“Well, for the most part,” Root smirked.


	3. soft spoken with a broken jaw

“Honey, you don’t look like you can drive very far,” Lorne mocked Shaw, closing the pans of his bathrobe around him to hide from the night’s cold air. Shaw glared at him, holding an icepack to her head to reduce the swelling of her already-forming bruise.

 

“He’s not wrong, you know,” Root insisted. She had already inspected the injury – despite Shaw’s complaints that Root wasn’t a doctor – and then Fred had given it a look as well. It didn’t seem like Shaw needed stitches for the cut, since it had stopped bleeding quite rapidly, but they were both still worried Shaw might have a concussion.

 

Shaw groaned, staring down the three pairs of eyes that glanced at her worriedly. “I’m fine.”

 

Root shivered without her vest, and hoped Fred would hurry up. Wearing only her blue t-shirt, she waited impatiently as Fred prepared the antiseptic wipe to clean the graze one bullet had left on her upper arm. The quiet interior court felt almost intimate when Fred kneeled beside her, holding up the wipe in one hand, the other settling down on Root’s wrist. “This might hurt a bit,” she whispered with a soft voice and Root frowned.

 

“I’ve had worse,” she looked at Fred defiantly, and Fred stared back, unfazed, a peculiar smile lighting up her traits.

 

“I’m sure you had,” Fred replied, but there was no mocking in her tone; it sounded like just another affirmation.

 

Once again Root wondered if she had underestimated Fred; she had, after all, not been troubled at all at having a gun shoved in her hand, and even held it properly, like she was ready to use it if necessary. Root didn’t think Fred had it in her to kill someone, but then again there was darkness lurking at the back of Fred’s eyes that reminded her of her own.

 

As Fred slowly disinfected the graze on her arm, Root clenched her jaw, breathing in and out slowly and ignoring the pleasant tingle it sent across her nervous system. Fred’s fingers moved almost gently against the wound, every touch like a shy apology and if it annoyed Root at first, the soothing pressure of Fred’s thumb on her wrist rapidly made it enticing. Although she still wished that Shaw would have been the one taking care of her injury, Root reminded herself that Shaw had never been this gentle. Even if Root didn’t mind Shaw’s roughness, welcomed it even, there was something to say about good bedside manner.

 

“There’s plenty of rooms here,” Lorne continued, glancing inside the hotel where Angel and Gunn were disposing of the last men sent by Wolfram and Hart. “You’re welcome to stay the night.”

 

Shaw spared Root at glance, as if asking her what she thought they should do. “She says we’re leaving for Dubai in eight hours.”

 

“Sleepover it is, then,” Shaw grunted. “Do you have anything to drink?”

 

Before Lorne could answer, Root cut him off; “there’s a bottle of sixteen-year-old Bushmills in the second drawer of the desk.”

 

Shaw lifted her eyebrows. “The Machine told you that?”

 

Root smirked. “Not exactly.”

 

Opening her mouth to chastise Root, Shaw was cut off by Fred’s sudden movement. Root almost missed the burning sensation crawling up her shoulder as Fred quickly rose to her feet.

 

“I’ll get it,” she suggested, grabbing the used wipes from the ground and heading towards the hotel door.

 

Lorne rolled his eyes. “Well I’m not going to be an accomplice in this,” he started, half-serious. “Never steal an Irishman’s whiskey.”

 

Root laughed, running a hand over the goose bumps on her arm. “And you green man, you would know all about that?”

 

Insulted, Lorne tightened his bathrobe. “Don’t call me green man,” he frowned. “And ladies, try not to empty all of Angel’s stock.”

 

Fred only laughed as they both returned inside the hotel, and suddenly it seemed to Root like the silence in the interior court was deafening. Shaw dropped her icepack on the stairs and moved to sit beside Root in Fred’s stead, setting up the bandage around Root’s upper arm. Her movements were rougher than Fred’s, and somehow that made it easier for Root to breathe again.

 

“You want her,” Root said more than she asked, eyes lost in the darkness of the interior court.

 

Shaw looked at Root for a moment before she replied. “Is that a problem?”

 

Root shrugged, but her body held onto the tension despite her best intentions. “I don’t know yet.”

 

Shaw frowned. “What does that even mean?”

 

Fred came back then, with the bottle, and sat beside Shaw. She took one look at the both of them before asking, “should I leave you two alone?”

 

Root took in a sharp breath. “Actually,” she considered her words, considered how she could never take them back. As with everything with Shaw, she went all the way. “We were talking of how much Shaw enjoys your company.”

 

Even in the cold of the night Root could see Fred’s cheeks reddening, and she repressed the urge to roll her eyes. What Shaw found in that girl was beyond her, yet her arm still ached with the slight glow of the antiseptic, and she found it easier to regain her composure.

 

“And what Shaw wants,” Root smirked, leaning forward across Shaw’s lap to grab the bottle of whiskey, destabilizing them both. “She usually gets.”

 

She felt Shaw swallowing hard, like she had just understood where Root was going with this. Fred’s flushed cheeks were furiously red.

 

“Root,” she kind of liked how Shaw could groan her name like a threat.

 

Root grabbed a glass from Fred and poured her a glass, smirking. “I’m only saying, this kind of opportunity won’t happen often,” she offered Fred a drink, intrigued by the curiosity she found in her eyes. Root grabbed another glass, filling it more than the first one, for Shaw. “Unless you have other exes who look exactly like me?” she smirked at Shaw, and hoped she hadn’t noticed the way her voice had wavered.

 

Shaw glared at the alcohol, and then at Root. “I knew Fred before you,” her tone was cold, “so really it’s you who looks like her.”

 

Pain struck through her chest suddenly, like a needle forcing its way through her lung and Root kept her eyes on the bottle, watching the whiskey falling in her empty glass without another word. She hoped Fred and Shaw couldn’t see her trouble, harder to hide with the exhaustion.

 

“It’s kind of true that the fusiform gyrus – I mean the part of the brain that identifies faces and also colors but that’s, that’s not relevant,” Fred started, toying with the glass and Root doubted that she hadn’t even taken a sip yet, “well _that_ is influenced by experience so you probably do look more like me in Sam’s eyes than you do in mine for example,” she barely caught her breath, “but that isn’t a biological fact it’s just... a perception.”

 

Root noticed Shaw’s cheeks were slightly flushed, from the whiskey she had just swallowed or from something else, she couldn’t tell. Fred didn’t seem to take a note of it; she continued her ramble, barely glancing up from her glass. “So really it’s all relative from one person to the other and can’t be taken as a fact – the degree to which we look alike is really dependant on how the fusiform gyrus interprets the data it receives.”

 

Root took a small sip and raised an eyebrow; “I thought you said you studied physics.” She frowned, licking her lips absently and tasting the whiskey against the tip of her tongue, “how would you even know that?”

 

“I just read about a lot of random stuff,” Fred replied, sharing a shy look with Shaw. Root winced, allowing Shaw to grab the bottle of whiskey from her hand and ignoring the worried frown that appeared on Shaw’s face.

 

Another awkward silence followed, and Root thought about swallowing her glass in one gulp before drinking a few more as Fred continued hesitantly. “Also I’ve been thinking about this and I believe that this,” she gestured between Root and her, “is more a case of homoplasy than anything else I mean, our relationship definitely is analogous and not homologous,” she laughed nervously, “unless you and I have a recent common ancestor that I don’t know about but I don’t think so.”

 

Root smirked. “Are you saying we can fuck because we’re not related?”

 

Shaw spurted out her whiskey. “Shit Root,” she wiped her hand on her pants. “Could you just act like a normal person for five minutes?”

 

“We’re all thinking it,” Root shrugged.

 

“We’re not,” Shaw glared at her.

 

Root smirked, seeing the way Fred’s cheeks had gathered that same red flush, the way she seemed to hide even more behind her glass.

 

“Fred was,” Root ran a hand through her hair, staring until Fred’s eyes met hers. “And I was,” she kept her eyes locked inside Fred’s, expecting her voice to waver under the lie and finding a subtle truth there. She swallowed hard, realising how intrigued she was by the whole situation, and turned so her eyes could meet with Shaw’s. “And I know you were,” she forced her tone to remain steady. “Ever since you two kissed earlier.”

 

Shaw averted her eyes, and so did Fred.

 

“I’m not angry,” and Root found she really wasn’t. She wished she was; anger was easier than this heavy feeling inside, this storm that reminded her that she was no one important, that no one would love her for being Root, just like no one had loved Sam Groves before that.

 

Shaw looked at her then, and Root didn’t like what she saw in her eyes, something like worry. She couldn’t lie to those eyes, couldn’t pretend; but she couldn’t tell her the whole truth either. “It’s just no fun to be left out.”

 

Groaning, Shaw pulled Root into a kiss, her teeth sinking into Root’s lower lip before she soothed it with the tip of her tongue. Beside them, Root and Shaw both felt Fred getting up to return inside and so they broke apart, turning towards her almost simultaneously.

 

“Where are you going?” Root asked, rising to follow.

 

“I thought...” Fred looked sad and awkward. “Maybe you two needed time?”

 

Shaw spared one look at Root and then at Fred. “We’re really not the talking type,” she shrugged, and the use of “we” created warmth in Root’s chest, comforting her in a strange way.

 

Fred smiled shyly and Shaw did the same, surprisingly quiet and gentle.

 

Root rolled her eyes. “You two lovebirds are so awkward it’s a miracle you even ever got together,” she mocked, ignoring the jealousy that rolled up her throat like nausea.

 

Shaw groaned, which only made Fred laugh.

 

“Well it did take her forever to make a move,” she teased, coming to Root’s side as if they were old friends. Root tried not to be disconcerted by Fred’s frankness, by her warm honest smile that made her look so much younger than she was. “Weeks we spent studying for hours and hours until she finally dared to kiss me.”

 

Shaw rolled her eyes, moving towards the door, but Root didn’t budge, finding that she kind of liked this new side of Shaw; flustered and awkward.

 

“With me too it took her quite some time,” she leaned into Fred, “I mean, I don’t think I could’ve made it more obvious,” Root scrunched her nose, repressing the urge to laugh at Shaw’s angry glare.

 

“Will you two shut up?” Shaw grunted, her hand holding onto the knob like she was about to break it off the door. “It’s so annoying having to listen to you two talk all the time.”

 

“Well we could always do something else,” Root suggested with a wink, her eyes glancing from Shaw to Fred.

 

Fred bit on her lower lip before she opened her mouth again; “it _is_ getting cold, we could... head inside, maybe.”

 

Root almost laughed at Fred’s shyness, but somehow found it endearing when Fred slipped a hand around Root’s shoulder, running her palm up and down her good arm, trying to transfer some heat onto her. “You’re gonna catch a cold,” Fred whispered, barely looking at Root before she pulled apart, having decided to return inside the hotel.

 

As Fred moved towards the door Root stared at her, looking as Fred passed the threshold first, Shaw keeping the door open for her. There was something intriguing in that sight, and for a moment Root pictured Fred as another version of herself, as someone she could have been if so many things in her past had been different; if she had never became _Root_.

 

She thought of saying something when she passed beside Shaw to follow Fred inside, but instead Shaw leaned in, running a hand on Root’s waist.

 

“Be nice,” Shaw whispered her order and Root only smirked, allowing Shaw to walk ahead of her as they climbed up the stairs.

 

“I’m always nice, Sameen,” she purred, a hand tugging at Shaw’s sweater. That only got her a glare, but it tugged warmly inside Root’s stomach, making her bite the inside of her lip in anticipation.

 

Without a word, the two of them trekked down the hotel’s long corridors. Root looked at Fred’s tensed shoulders, the way her footsteps slowed as they reached her door, and for a minute Root thought about calling it off. She worried that for once, she might have bitten more than she could chew; remembering the way her heart skipped a beat whenever Shaw and Fred shared a meaningful look, she wondered if it was going to stop entirely, when she would see them kiss.

 

Fred stopped in front of a closed door and her eyes crossed Root’s, a look filled with doubts and something like arousal. Root noticed the way Fred flinched when she took sight of Root’s hand on Shaw, and the thought struck her, that maybe she wasn’t the only one worried they were pushing it too far.

 

“Is it narcissistic for me to be attracted to her?” Fred asked Shaw in a low voice, barely taking her eyes off Root.

 

“No,” Shaw smirked as she turned to look at Root, only to find her staring back at Fred, still uncertain.

 

She didn’t have to say anything; Root heard the question all the same. “It’s fine Shaw,” Root whispered, her hand running from Shaw’s waist to rest on her ass. “Kind of kinky, I like it.”

 

Shaw rolled her eyes, yet pulled her into a kiss, her fingernails digging into the back of Root’s neck. Fred opened her bedroom door, nervously stepping in, although quickly followed by Root, and then Shaw.

 

As soon as Fred closed the door behind them Shaw pushed her against the wall, pressing her lips against Fred’s. Hands snaked around Shaw’s neck, pulling her closer and Root wondered if that was what they looked like, Shaw and her, when they kissed. It looked tender somehow; more gentle than any embrace they had shared, but still just as desperate.

 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Shaw’s voice, soft and patient, seemed to surprise her as much as it did Root. Shaw ran a thumb down Fred’s cheek, her other hand snaking around her waist while Shaw turned to spare a look towards Root, as if she was addressing her as well. Fred looked at Root too then, smiling shyly and Root frowned, finding she was unable to smile back.

 

Instead, Root closed the distance between them, slipping behind Shaw, slender fingers moving aside Shaw’s curls before Root started sucking on her neck. Shaw breathed out against Fred who gasped, surprised. Root felt Fred’s curious eyes boring into her as she worked against Shaw’s skin, Fred’s fingers digging into Shaw’s strong arms when Root bit down hard. Shaw smiled and lifted one hand to tug Root’s hair, pulling her up.

 

Shaw’s thumbs drew smooth circles on the base of Fred’s back as she kissed Root, and Fred watched in silence, arousal flushing her cheeks.

 

Root’s hands slipped under Shaw’s clothes, but when she broke the kiss she noticed an odd look on Shaw; anticipation, it seemed, and Root smirked as realisation dawned on her. “Sameen,” she laughed, leaning into the crook of Shaw’s neck again, suddenly warming up at the thought of kissing Fred, especially seeing how aroused it seemed to make Shaw, “you are such a nerd sometimes.”

 

Shaw groaned as the hands left her clothes, unceremoniously pushing her aside before Root pulled on Fred’s belt to get her close. She ran a hand up Fred’s arm, smirking as Fred shivered. “You really are a fragile thing, aren’t you?” Root mocked. As if insulted Fred grabbed her by the neck and kissed her hard, Root’s smirk irritatingly attractive against her lips.

 

Fred’s hand slipped under Root’s shirt and she gasped in surprise when Fred pushed her towards the bed. She felt Shaw moving to stand behind her, her warm hands kneading her ass and then settling on her waist as Fred’s tongue continued to push inside her and Root unwillingly moaned, feeling fingers – Fred’s? – slowly lifting her shirt.

 

Shaw’s teeth sank deep in her neck and Root bit Fred’s tongue in surprise, which caused her to step back quickly, holding a hand to her mouth.

 

“You okay?” Shaw asked, her hands still resting on Root’s hips, with her eyes locked into Fred’s. An uncomfortably burn spread across Root’s chest and she turned around quickly, pulling Shaw’s sweater over her head before she returned to suck at her neck, fingers rapidly undoing her bra. Shaw’s breath shifted, becoming scarce, yet she didn’t budge until Fred finally pressed her body against Root’s back, cold fingers grazing the skin as they pulled Root’s shirt off. Root spun around as soon as her shirt hit the floor.

 

She smirked, feeling Shaw’s chin digging into her shoulder, Shaw’s arms snaking around her, holding her close. The two of them stared at Fred with hungry eyes.

 

“You’re overdressed,” Root winked, her fingers absently toying with Shaw’s. “Isn’t she overdressed, Shaw?”

 

Root ignored the way Fred’s eyes lingered on her scars, even in the darkness of her room, and instead focused on the heat of Shaw’s bare skin against her back.

 

“She really is,” Shaw’s teeth gnawed at Root’s shoulder lightly before she slipped away from her to reach Fred.

 

As Shaw kissed Fred again Root only stared, noticing how Shaw’s hands moved almost gently against Fred’s skin as she took off her t-shirt. Root thought of joining them, the prickling cold air making her uncomfortable, and yet she couldn’t move. Once she had gotten rid of Fred’s bra, Shaw leaned down to suck Fred’s breast and Fred tugged her hair, urging her own. Root stopped breathing for a moment, staring at the way Shaw’s muscles waved under the skin, the way her scars almost disappeared in the darkness.

 

Root didn’t know if it was Fred’s moan or something else that stopped Shaw and yet she did, turning around with a worried look.

 

“Root?” she asked, coming closer. Her hands reached for Root, but Root forcefully grabbed her by the waist and pushed her down on the bed almost angrily.

 

“Shut up,” Root replied before Shaw could add anything, her fingers undoing Shaw’s belt. She pulled down Shaw’s pants and underwear in one rushed movement, noticing Fred at the corner of her eye, coming closer. “Sit,” Root ordered, pointing towards the head of the bed.

 

Shaw’s back rested against the headboard, her legs awkwardly spread on the mattress. Root bit her lip as she stared, feeling Fred shifting nervously beside her.

 

“You two have unfinished business,” she started as she turned towards Fred, clearing her throat nervously. Fred blinked, swallowing hard. “I get that.”

 

Root smiled almost softly before she leaned in, kissing Fred’s lips lightly. Her warm palms explored Fred’s bare stomach and then her back, urging her against her body. She smirked when Fred’s fingernails dug almost shyly into her lower back.

 

“I’m going to give you two a moment,” Root offered, feeling the sting inside her chest. Fred frowned, yet allowed Root to push her pants down, leaning on her as she helped shedding the rest of Fred’s clothes.

 

Fred glanced at Shaw waiting for her on the bed, and then at Root. “You’re the one who’s overdressed now,” Fred whispered, but Root shook her head.

 

“It’s okay,” she lied, her heart racing as she pictured herself putting her t-shirt back on and leaving the room; as she imagined Fred and Shaw together, and Shaw coming with Fred’s name on her lips.

 

Shaw shifted on the mattress and Fred didn’t need more convincing; she joined her on the bed, slipping between Shaw’s legs as if she belonged there and Root didn’t have the courage to keep watching. She turned around, running a hand through her hair as her gaze searched the darkened room for her t-shirt.

 

“Root,” she heard Shaw’s voice from the bed and stopped, closing her eyes. Tears had started to gather and she worried they would spill. “Don’t go.”

 

There was nothing but silence in Fred’s bedroom, and Root wondered if they could hear that she wasn’t breathing anymore.

 

“I thought you wanted this,” Shaw spoke again, and Root turned around then, hoping the darkness would hide her sadness.

 

“I do,” she repeated, uncertain of who she was trying to convince.

 

Shaw frowned. “Doesn’t look like you do.”

 

Root swallowed hard, the anger burning inside again as she took off the rest of her clothes without breaking eye contact. “I was trying to be nice,” she retorted, although she could hear how her voice wavered. Her heartbeat resonated so loud inside her ears it was almost deafening, and through her implant the Machine reminded her to be weary of heart diseases and it strangely soothed her. She joined Fred and Shaw on the bed, feeling their eyes uncomfortably boring into her.

 

Ignoring their worry Root leaned in, biting Fred’s lower lip and smirking when she gasped. “She likes it rough,” Root whispered, shaking her head before she kissed Fred again, more roughly than she had before. Anger swelled up in her stomach and she fisted the sheets when Shaw’s hand started kneading her thigh, fingers dangerously moving close.

 

Root moved further apart, kneeling behind Fred, her fingernails scratching her stomach as she pressed Fred’s warm body against her chest. Root’s hardened nipples flattened against Fred’s back and Fred finally relaxed, one hand rising to fist Root’s hair, urging her on.

 

“Focus on her,” Root whispered in Fred’s ear, her eyes falling on Shaw. Fred leaned forward to kiss Shaw and Root’s hands moved to Shaw’s inner thighs, spreading her legs open for Fred. Root then returned her attention to Fred, her fingers teasing her breasts as Fred hungrily kissed Shaw.

 

Root felt the urge to leave once again, yet Shaw’s eyes found her before she could, and familiar fingers dug into her knee, forcing her to stay. She worried at her lip until Shaw smiled at her.

 

Fred turned around them, her tongue darting against Root’s lips, playfully teasing and Root breathed out against her. She noticed Fred’s thumb brushing against Shaw’s clit as Fred kissed Root and Root’s arousal returned, burning low in her gut and yet flushing her cheeks. She almost groaned when Fred bit her gently, listening to Shaw’s erratic breathing.

 

When Shaw pulled on Fred’s arm, silently begging for more, Root only smirked. She rested one hand on Shaw’s ankle while the other continued to explore Fred, both kneading and teasing.

 

Shaw closed her eyes when Fred slipped two fingers inside her in a slow, patient rhythm, and Root pressed herself against Fred, sucking at the sensitive skin just below her ear as she ran a digit down her labia. Fred moaned quietly, grinding down on Root’s hand to feel her more.

 

Root listened to both of their breathing turning more and more erratic, Shaw biting down her lower lip and Fred leaned back against Root, the room quickly heating up as the rhythm of their hands increased. She noticed a flash of annoyance on Shaw’s face and it sparked a warm glow in Root’s chest.

 

“Here,” Root whispered in Fred’s ear before she placed a soft kiss at the crook of her neck. She moved from behind Fred to kneel beside Shaw instead, smirking when Shaw groaned and pulled her into a kiss. Root bit her lip until she drew blood, feeling Shaw grinding against Fred’s hand almost desperately, her heated skin starting to sweat.

 

Root turned to look at Fred, noticing the surprise and curiosity in her eyes. “Like I said,” Root winked, moving up to kiss Fred lightly. Fred tasted Shaw’s blood on Root’s lips and licked it off, “she likes it rough.”

 

Shaw groaned something that sounded like _shut up_ and Root and Fred shared a knowing smile. “Go on then,” Root encouraged Fred until she leaned down to lick Shaw’s blood directly from her lips.

 

“Root,” Shaw almost begged once Fred pulled apart, and Root stopped breathing again, her heart beating wild as she returned to Shaw’s side.

 

With one hand blindly still teasing Fred’s inner thigh, Root pressed herself against Shaw. “I know what you want,” she whispered in her ear, knowing Fred couldn’t make out the words, “but I don’t think Fred’s into that.”

 

Shaw hissed when Root’s hand left Fred to plant her fingernails in Shaw’s inner thigh, digging until they broke the skin, creating four little red crescents.

 

“Sit up,” Root asked her and Fred stopped her movements, puzzled. Shaw complied, moving closer to Fred as Root sat behind her, her back resting against the headboard as she pulled Shaw against her. “Close your eyes,” Root ordered as the back of Shaw’s head leaned into the crook of her beck, and when Shaw didn’t comply Root raised one hand to pinch a nipple hard. “I said, close your eyes.”

 

She spared one look to Fred, who returned her fingers where Shaw needed her before Root whispered in Shaw’s ear. “Think about that iron, that first time,” Root raked nails down Shaw’s chest where the metal would have burned her. “The heat almost unbearable,” she felt Shaw’s breathing growing erratic and brought one hand to Shaw’s center, pinching her labia. “Oh I would’ve tortured you for days,” Root continued in a low voice, a digit tracing circles around Shaw’s clit. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

 

“Yes,” Shaw answered, bucking so hard her body was restraining Root’s chest, making it hard to breath. Root continued anyway, her arousal burning as Shaw’s body moved between her legs, never quite applying the pressure she needed.

 

“I could make you bleed,” Root swallowed hard, her eyes meeting with Fred’s curious looks. “I’d tie you up-” Shaw came so suddenly that Root stopped talking, Fred and her both helping Shaw ride out her orgasm.

 

Shaw snaked a hand behind Fred’s neck and pulled her down, kissing her lazily as her other hand caressed Root’s thigh. “Okay, that was interesting,” she whispered with a raspy voice, glancing at Root.

 

“It really was,” Root smiled, turning her eyes towards Fred. Shaw followed her gaze, smirking.

 

“Switch places?” Shaw asked Root without looking at her, and immediately moved when she heard Root’s quiet hum of approval.

 

Fred hesitated before she came to sit between Root’s legs, trying not to lean into her as if worried she’d hurt her. Root chuckled against her shoulder, pulling her close. “I’m fine,” she let her breath fall down Fred’s neck, noticing the small goose bumps that appeared on the way.

 

“It must be uncomfortable,” Fred started, cut off when Shaw laid down before her, kissing and biting her inner thighs. As Fred melted into her Root licked her lips absently, her hands running warm circles on Fred’s stomach.

 

“Relax,” Root whispered, coming to kiss the crook of Fred’s neck. She stared as Shaw’s hair brushed against Fred’s thigh, guessing her tongue was teasing Fred from the way Fred breathed in sharply. Root moved one hand to Fred’s breast, pinching a nipple while her other palm laid flat on her stomach, keeping her still.

 

Feeling Fred’s tensed shoulders against her Root kissed her again, trying her best to be gentle. “Trust her,” she bit on Fred’s earlobe almost playfully, “she knows you.”

 

Fred moaned then, letting her head fall back on Root’s shoulder and Root felt that warmth spreading inside her again. She closed her eyes for a moment, revelling in Fred’s heat against her, the slow movements of her hips teasing her. Root breathed in deeply, the scent of Fred’s shampoo almost invading and she moved her hand from Fred’s stomach to Shaw’s head, fisting her curls and pressing her down.

 

She heard Shaw’s frustrated groan and smirked.

 

“Sam,” Fred’s voice came out almost pained, “I need more.”

 

Root relaxed her hold on Shaw, allowing her to lift her head up. Shaw pressed her hands into the mattress to sit up before she kneeled between Fred’s legs.

 

“I know,” Shaw smirked, leaning down, yet instead of kissing Fred she pressed her mouth roughly against Root’s. The taste of Fred’s arousal on Shaw’s lips sent a bolt of electricity in her stomach and Root breathed in sharply, her fingernails digging Fred’s side.

 

Looking smug, Shaw returned her hand to Fred’s labia, raking a finger up and down.

 

“Stop teasing,” Root complained in Fred’s stead, and Shaw seemed even prouder of herself. Shaw licked her lips before she moved down to suck on Fred’s nipple, slipping her fingers inside her.

 

As Fred grinded against Shaw’s hand, she struggled not to put too much pressure onto Root’s ribcage, the thoughtful attention bringing a smile to Root’s lips. Root kissed Fred’s neck again, her tongue running small circles just under her ear and Fred moaned almost desperately. Shaw’s hand moved more rapidly between Fred’s legs and Root listened to Fred’s erratic breathing, smiling as she noticed the way Fred fisted the sheets, knuckles whitening.

 

Without realising what she was doing, Root’s hand ran down Fred’s arm, her fingers interlocking with hers. Fred held onto Root’s hand almost instinctively, tightening her grip painfully as she came, a moaned “Sam” crossing her parted lips. Shaw slowed down her movements, leaning down to place a soft kiss on Fred’s jaw bone, the tender gesture bringing a smile to Fred’s lips.

 

“Yes,” Fred breathed out when Shaw slowly pulled her fingers out of her, “very interesting.”

 

Root hummed quietly, frowning when Fred’s warm body moved apart from hers. She bit on her lip as two pairs of eyes settled on her, tired and yet hungry.

 

“It’s getting late,” Root warned them both, but Shaw shook her head, pulling on her ankles until Root laid down the bed.

 

“We’re not done with you,” Shaw smirked as Fred and her settled on both sides of Root. Root closed her eyes as she felt two hands running up her thighs; Fred’s soft and hesitant fingers competing with Shaw’s warm and rough palm.

 

She felt lips pressing against hers, and from the softness of the kiss she would’ve believed they were Fred’s, yet she had recognised Shaw’s perfume. Root opened her mouth, allowing Shaw’s tongue in, moaning when Fred’s fingers scraped her inner thigh. The throbbing heat between her legs became almost unbearable as Shaw’s hand kneaded her breast, Fred’s lips coming to suck at the pulse point of her neck.

 

Root shook her head, her closed fists pushing against Shaw’s chest. “You don’t have to,” she started, losing her train of thought when Fred’s warm breath fell into her ear.

 

“It’s okay,” Fred whispered and Root shut her eyes tighter, tears inexplicably gathering behind her eyelids again.

 

Shaw grabbed her wrists into one hand. “Root,” she would never tire of Shaw’s voice saying her name, “look at me.”

 

Root opened her eyes then, and Fred’s mouth returned to her pulse point as Root gazed at Shaw. In the darkness of Fred’s bedroom it seemed like nothing existed outside of them and Root breathed in deeply, her heart almost aching. Shaw didn’t say anything, she just smiled before she leaned down again, biting Root’s lower lip.

 

“Stay with me,” Shaw whispered, moving a hand against Root’s labia.

 

Unable to repress her moan, Root pressed the back of her head down on the mattress, bucking her hips. She felt a second hand joining Shaw’s, slender digits that drew circles around her clit as Shaw’s fingers slipped into her. Root grinded against both hands, Shaw’s teeth sinking into her skin as Fred’s mouth sucked and licked her neck until Root felt her chest aching, a wave of pleasure threatening to overcome her.

 

“It’s okay,” Fred promised just as Shaw murmured Root’s name, and the sound of their voices pushed Root over the edge, coming hard as her hands fisted the bed sheets almost desperately. She waited a few seconds to regain her breath before she opened her eyes again, finding Shaw smirking smugly above her.

 

“We’re that good, uh?” Shaw glanced at Fred and they shared a smile.

 

Root frowned. “What?”

 

Fred chuckled against her shoulder. “We made you scream.”

 

“You did not,” Root argued, although she wasn’t entirely sure. She pouted when Shaw laughed at her again. She pushed herself up towards the head of the bed, trying to crawl under the sheets, cheeks flushed.

 

“We did,” Shaw argued, moving to the side and slipping under the covers beside her.

 

Fred did the same, extending an arm over Root’s stomach as she placed a kiss right under her ear. “We kind of did.”


End file.
